Blind Side
by Genesis R
Summary: She was beautiful. She was graceful. And now, she was dead. Aerith was everything Tifa was not. It stands to reason that the bartender was jealous of the flower girl. Tifa's POV, post-game.


**A/N: **Just to clarify, I'm not trying to make this canon. I'm well aware that Aerith and Tifa got along well together in the game and that they were great friends. This is just my take on how things could have been in an angsty AU.

That being said, enjoy!

* * *

Blind Side

_by Genesis R_

I remember the day I first met Aerith. She was everything. It was as if someone had taken all that was missing from my life, all that I had ever dreamed of being and failed to be, and had put it together and given it breath.

I started life with nothing. I left Nibelheim with nothing. I came to Midgar with nothing. In Midgar, I found Cloud, and I was ecstatic to have him, but there were still so many holes in my life that I wasn't happy even with his company. It was a long and painful road that took me to realize that what I'd been missing I'd had all along.

She was beautiful. First impressions are everything, and good Gaia, but was her first impression something spectacular. Long dress, pale pink, rippling hair, perfume, a perfect smile - everything that I'm not. I remember standing there next to her in the Don's bedroom and I looked down at myself. I was as dressed up for the occasion as I could get, but I didn't have much material or gil to work with, and next to her innocent grace - she even had a flower in her hair! - I looked like a cheap hooker. How I'd longed all my life for a dress like the one she wore so casually, something long and flowing and womanly. _Ladylike._ I knew I could never pull off a costume like that, but I could still dream.

She was graceful. Her fighting style - that's another area where I envied her. She fought with a stick, a staff that kept her enemies at a safe distance. Not like me, a rough-and-tumble brawler who was in the center of every fight, kicking and hitting like a common thug. I had grace in my movements, I'll admit, but it was nothing like her spin and twirl and beautiful, dangerous agility.

She was a flower girl. She was a lady, delicate and sensitive as a new bloom, and everyone treated her with such care. No one cared what I saw or heard. I was inured to Cid's cussing - I'd worked in a bar, hadn't I? But Aerith's ears would burn if she heard Cid flapping his mouth, so he was always considerate around her. Even Yuffie, that little impudent kid, was nice to her. Of all of us, even including Cloud, Aerith was the only one safe from the ninja's sharp tongue.

She was the last Cetra. That alone made her importance eclipse the rest of us and we could never hope to be her equal. The rest of AVALANCHE could die, each and every one, but as long as she lived, there was hope for the Planet. We would give our lives for her. We could die for her - some of us did die for her - but as long as she lived, _she_ lived, it was all right. The rest of us were incidental, like travelling companions that were nice to have along but not really necessary in the end. I think that was the worst of it, the feeling of insignificance that came over me every time she walked in the room. There she was, the girl whose ancestors were gods, the girl whose heritage reached back to the founding of the Planet, to the most powerful beings ever to live. The girl who could speak with Gaia, who could coax flowers out of paving stones, whose prayers could save the world.

She was blind. Humble. Ignorant of her own worth. It was maddening, to see her walking around without any idea of how good her life was, to see her ignoring her wonderful gifts. I almost wished she had put on airs, had demanded that we all treat her as her station dictated, rather than so flippantly disregarding everything. Never once did I hear her complain that her dress had gotten dirty. Never once did I hear her say she was too tired to go on. Never once was she afraid to go into battle. Never once was she afraid to die. In fact, looking back now, I think that when her time came, she embraced it.

Because the fact of the matter is: she is dead. She died saving us all, a sacrifice I don't think any of the rest of us would have had the strength to make. I like to think that I could have been the hero, it could have been me they all mourned and idolized, but it never was. It was always her. She had everything anyone could ever wish for - everything _I_ had ever wished for - and she threw it all away, let herself be killed, made us go on alone.

Why?

Why would she do that?

It was because, as jealous as I was of her, envious almost to the point of rudeness, she was even more jealous of me.

The night before the Forgotten Capital, we'd set up camp in the Sleeping Forest. I was on watch, alone, everyone else asleep, when I heard soft crying. It was coming from the only tent, the women's tent, and it wouldn't stop. I thought at first it was Yuffie and I waited to hear Aerith wake up and comfort her, but it continued, so at last I crossed to the entrance and peeked inside. Yuffie was sound asleep, but Aerith was curled into a ball amid her blankets, weeping quietly. I almost got mad at her, but I couldn't, not when something was clearly wrong. I couldn't imagine that her life was less than perfect. Hard, like all our lives were at the moment, but perfect in the end.

I knelt by her side and eventually she turned to face me. I'd never seen eyes so full of pain, so sad and haunted, as her green eyes were that night.

"What's wrong, Aerith?" I asked, keeping my voice low to not wake Yuffie.

She didn't really look at me, more like _through_ me, and I still don't know who she was speaking to when she whispered, "I miss him. I miss him so, so much."

"Who?"

A name buzzed against her teeth, a name I now know to have been 'Zack.' But she was silent until a moment later she asked out of the blue, "Are you happy, Tifa?"

I stared at her for a long time. I wanted to say yes, just because that would forestall further questioning, but I couldn't lie to her. I wasn't happy, not with Cloud not being himself, not with him always paying attention to Aerith, not with Aerith herself always unintentionally but unavoidably taking center stage. I wasn't about to tell her that, though.

She noticed my silence. "I'm not happy, either," she said at last, and she must have noticed my surprised expression, because she smiled gently. "Clearly you don't think so."

"Why not? What is there that you don't have?"

"What is there that I _do_ have?"

"Looks, personality, a respectable job, a position of importance, the legacy of your people, Cloud..." His name somehow slipped out of my mouth and I was mortified, but looking back now, I'm glad I said it.

"Cloud," she repeated. "But can't you see, I don't have him. I have the fragment of his mind that belongs to someone else, but that someone is gone. That's all I ever wanted, was to be with him again; instead, I got everything _but_ him. I'm not happy, and I would give up everything I ever had just to have him back. I don't have Cloud, Tifa - you do. You always have. You...ought to be the happy one."

There was nothing I could say to that. She had stated it so absolutely that I couldn't argue.

I looked into her eyes again, saw all that hopeless longing, and I didn't envy her any more. The world has ways of making us all equals: she had everything I wanted, and I had the one thing she wanted. I was just too blind to appreciate what I had, and it took her to make me realize what really mattered. Pink dresses, ribbons, flowers, what were they all worth when compared to love and friendship? I pitied her for what she didn't have. If I hadn't been feeling so sorry for myself, maybe I could have done something to make her life a little less lonely, a little less miserable, but I was so wrapped up in my own self-pity that it had blinded me, and I had resented her.

Suddenly I couldn't meet her eyes any more. "I hope...I hope you're happy some day, Aerith," I said, getting up to leave the tent.

"I think I will be," she murmured, but when I turned to face her, her eyes were closed. I think that was when she decided what to do. The next night, she headed north alone.

* * *

Cloud still mourns her. Whenever her name is mentioned, I watch his eyes tear up, and I go to him and comfort him. I'm not jealous of her place in his heart. She has a place in mine as well. But now, I know what it is he's mourning. Not a lover, but a friend. She was our friend, and she will be remembered in all her aspects: flower girl, healer, wanderer, savior. I don't envy her place in history. And I don't envy her where she is now, for she and I are in the same place - in the arms of the ones we love.


End file.
